


Eggplant

by wheel_pen



Series: Lucy [21]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex has trouble balancing his family life with his business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eggplant

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Lucy, my original character, is Clark’s cousin on the Kent side. Although human she may have some strange psychic powers and definitely has some issues in her past. She’s having a tough time with her mom and goes to live with Jonathan and Martha for a while. She and Lex form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. In my world, Lex eventually becomes President. And his staff is from The West Wing. 
> 
> 3\. I started writing this series during the third season of Smallville, so it diverges from canon then or earlier.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            Lucy had a bad feeling when she walked into her husband’s office and saw the suit he was wearing. “You’re dressed up,” she began casually, leaning against the doorjamb.

            She had been out poking in the garden and was quite a bit dirtier, but he still gave her an appreciative glance when he looked up from the files he was sorting. “I’m about to leave for Metropolis,” he told her, tossing a folder in his briefcase.

            “Metropolis?” she repeated, surprised and slightly exasperated.

            Lex looked up at her cautiously. “Yes,” he assured her. “I have a dinner meeting.”

            “Tonight?” Lucy persisted.

            He sighed—he had known this was coming. “Yes, tonight. Look,” he continued, when his wife began to protest, “this guy is only in the country for a short time, and his proposal could be a major investment for the company.”

            “But _tonight_ , Lex? You _know_ what tonight is.”

            “Yes, I do.” Lex snapped the briefcase shut decisively. “But he’ll get over it.”

            “That’s what you _always_ say,” Lucy pointed out.

            Lex grabbed his coat from the chair with a little more force than he had meant to. “You’re going to be there, Jonathan and Martha are going to be there,” he reminded her. “What’s the big deal?”

            “You’re his _father_ ,” Lucy insisted. “He likes to see you in the audience. He likes to _know_ you’re there.”

            “Lucy.” He was starting to use that tone now, the one _he_ thought sounded reasonable and _she_ thought sounded obnoxious. “In the _movies_ , when the father misses his son’s first grade play about singing, dancing produce, the Cat Stevens music swells on the soundtrack and the kid grows up to be a psychopath who kills people while dressed as an eggplant.” She rolled her eyes. “But Damian _will get over it_.”

            His wife followed him out to the hall. “Lex, it’s important—“

            “Lucy, it’s _not_ important,” Lex countered, pulling his coat on. “In ten years, he will _not_ remember whether or not I was there to see his triumph as a heroic _papier-mâché_ vegetable.”

 “He probably won’t remember this specific night,” she agreed in irritation, “but he _will_ remember that you were _never_ there, for _any_ night.”

            “ _Maybe_ ,” Lex snapped, turning back to her, “he could remember that I was working on a multibillion dollar company which he has _benefited_ from his entire life!”

            Lucy paused, crossed her arms over her chest, and shook her head. “My G-d, Lex,” she finally said. “The _nicest_ thing your father ever did was offer to marry me if I would stay away from _you_. But I wanted to _avoid_ marrying a heartless b-----d.”

            She saw a flash in his blue eyes. It was an easy nerve to hit, but as far as she was concerned, he had asked for it. “I have to go,” he told her coldly, opening the main door.

            “Of course you do.”

            “Lucy!” She turned her back, ignoring him as she headed for the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the front door slam shut, rattling the paintings on the walls. Then, the sound of one of Lex’s expensive cars peeling down the driveway and out the front gates. She just hoped he paid attention to the road this time.

 

            Jonathan Kent, God love him, was not a subtle man. He made no secret of the glances he kept casting to the empty seat Lucy had insisted be left beside her, on the aisle, as if he were afraid he might miss his niece’s husband magically teleporting in. Lucy tried to focus on the children’s recital, although frankly it was somewhat difficult to tell which child in a brightly-colored blob of a costume was supposed to be which character of the fruit and vegetable kingdom. She told herself she would never stoop to making _excuses_ for Lex’s absences…  but she also wasn’t going to let anyone catch her _complaining_ about her husband, not when they had all been claiming for years that this was exactly the kind of behavior they had expected. She just hoped Damian wasn’t going to be too disappointed when he realized his father hadn’t shown up… and that the disappointment wouldn’t, you know, warp him for life.

            With one last chorus of a cheerfully off-key tune, the children awkwardly bowed to the sound of enthusiastic applause from parents, grandparents, and assorted other adoring relatives—the only kind who could have sat through an epic allegory about the values of friendship, honesty, and humility, told with produce. Perhaps in the end it was better that Lex _had_ missed it… he probably would have been puking in the aisle.

            Lucy stood and reached for her coat, which she had put in the empty seat to mark it. She knew her uncle couldn’t hold his tongue for too much longer—

            “So, I guess Lex’s meeting ran long, huh?”

            “I think it probably ran about as long as he wanted it to,” Lucy replied neutrally, folding her program and tucking it in her purse. She really had no idea what that statement meant… except it was likely true, and something noncommittal to say.

            “Mrs. Luthor!” Lucy turned to the little old lady who stood in the aisle.

            “Hello, Mrs. Watson,” Lucy replied, giving the older woman a hand to clasp in her own shaky pair. “Were you here to see Mary Jane?”

            “Yes, yes,” the proud grandmother enthused. “Wasn’t she a lovely banana?”

            “Oh, definitely,” agreed Martha Kent cheerfully, as her husband whispered in her ear, “There was a banana? None of them were yellow!”

            “Now which one is yours, dear?” Mrs. Watson persisted. She still hadn’t let go of Lucy’s hand.

            “Damian,” Lucy told her, as she did every time she saw the older woman. Mrs. Watson was very nice, but her memory wasn’t the best. Fortunately it wasn’t an effect of old age; she’d always been what her husband referred to as “bubble-headed,” in his oh-so-gentlemanly way. “He was the eggplant.”

            “Oh, of course!” Mrs. Watson’s expression turned thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think he looks a _bit_ like you. Did his father have purple hair, when he was younger?”

            Lucy opened her mouth but found nothing sensible ready to emerge. “I don’t think so, Mrs. Watson,” was all she could think of.

            “Come on, Helen,” Arthur Watson said in a long-suffering tone. “Give the woman back her hand, and we’ll go backstage to see Mary Jane.”

            “Oh, well, yes, that would be lovely,” Mrs. Watson agreed. “See you later, dear.”

            Lucy nodded reassuringly and watched the older couple walking away—arm in arm, literally leaning on each other for support. They had been married for forty-seven years, raised three children, been to plays and graduations and birthdays for seven grandchildren. Where were she and Lex going to be in forty years? Would she be here, watching a grandchild in another pageant about fruit or flowers or aliens while the kid’s father and grandfather were locked in a boardroom seething at each other? At the moment she didn’t like either ending.

            “Lucy?” Martha touched her arm, bringing her back to the present. “Should we go backstage?”

            “Yeah, yeah, we should get Damian,” her niece agreed, forcing a smile to her face. “We should see if they were videotaping this, it would be nice if—it would be nice if we could watch it later.” Martha nodded encouragingly, but her smile was tight. Lucy figured her aunt knew she had been about to say that maybe _Lex_ could watch it later. Which he wouldn’t.

            They started to scoot out into the aisle, which was congested with chatting friends and relatives. Smallville had 45,000 people… a cowtown to neighboring Metropolis, but larger than a lot of nearby farming communities. It _felt_ like a small town, though, Lucy thought, where people always had something to chat about even though they saw each other every day. She was about to head for the back of the auditorium when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

            “You know, I think you could really make a success of this eggplant thing.”

            “Really?” answered another familiar voice.

            Lucy turned and saw Damian, dressed in his “under eggplant” uniform of green sweatpants and a purple shirt. The boy’s face was still a smudged violet from the stage make-up his music teacher had insisted was necessary to “preserve the illusion.” He was being carried by Lex.

            “It’s what we call a niche market,” the boy’s father continued, but his eyes and smile were only for Lucy.

            Until he was distracted. “Lex!” Jonathan Kent said by way of greeting. “Made it after all, huh?”

            Lex put the boy down and Martha immediately fished a tissue out of her purse, attempting to wipe some of the purple off. “There’s some clubs in Metropolis where the bouncers could learn a thing or two from the people running the doors here,” Lex replied, slipping his arm around Lucy’s waist in a proprietary manner. “Ten minutes late and I have to sneak in the back way.”

            “Dad was _backstage_ with the _teacher_!” Damian piped up, squirming away from his great aunt. Clearly this was something to be impressed with. “ _Nobody_ gets to be backstage during the show. Mrs. Angstrom says it _impedes_ her _creativity_.”

            “Well, I try not to be _too_ much of an impediment,” Lex replied, nudging his wife a bit.

            “I think you did a _wonderful_ job, Damian,” Martha told him.

            “Yeah, yeah,” agreed Jonathan. “I’ve never seen anyone play an eggplant better.”

            “Honest?” the boy asked delightedly.

            “Jonathan and I were going to go out for some ice cream,” Martha began. “Maybe you would like to join us. Although you don’t have to eat any ice cream if you don’t want to.”

            “Ice cream? That is _all_ that eggplants eat!” Damian insisted. He turned to his mother. “Mom, can we go?”

            Lucy glanced at Lex, who gave her a small smile. “Well, I suppose we could do that.”

            “Yeah!” he squealed. “I want chocolate fudge. No, chocolate peanut butter. No, chocolate mint. Maybe chocolate fudge. What kind are you going to get, Dad?” Damian asked, impulsively grabbing Lex’s hand as they walked out of the auditorium.

            “Probably whatever kind your mother gets,” Lex told him sagely. “That’s usually the best one.”

            “Well, I’m going to get chocolate peanut butter. Or maybe chocolate mint…”

 

            “Thank you for coming, Lex,” Lucy said about an hour later, as they were transporting a sleeping, purple, chocolaty, sticky former eggplant home.

            Lex glanced at Damian in the rearview mirror as he turned a corner. “Well, you called me a heartless b-----d, how could I stay away after that?” he told her with a smirk.

            “Lex,” she breathed warningly, twisting in her seat to check on the boy.

            “He’s out cold,” her husband assured her. “We could probably say, or even _do_ , anything, and he wouldn’t wake up.”

            “Lex!”

            “You know, you really _are_ sexy when you get angry with me.”

            “That is _so_ pathological,” Lucy concluded, but she was smiling a little bit.

            They were quiet for a minute as Lex navigated the country road leading to the mansion. They could see the lights on the truck in front of them, Jonathan and Martha driving back to their farm.

            “I should probably tell you,” Lex continued, “the guy I was supposed to meet with… his proposal was c—p.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah… I called and told him I’d rather go to my son’s play than meet with him, because at least the children didn’t actually _believe_ that they were produce.”

            Lucy smirked a bit, then asked, “But if it had been something _good_ …”

            Lex shrugged. “I don’t know. I could lie to you if you want.”

            “No.”

            “I do try, Lucy. I guess it doesn’t matter if you can’t tell.”

            She put her hand on his shoulder and straightened the collar of his suit. “It matters.” She let her fingers drift a bit.

            “Maybe you could get mad at me again, when we get home,” he suggested innocently.

            She smiled. “Damian has to have his bath first. I’m not sending him to bed painted purple and covered in chocolate.”

            “Those are some strong maternal instincts you’ve got.”

            “Oh, shut up.”

            “No, really, some people just concern themselves with the big things, like not letting their children be eaten by lions.”

            “Stop.”

            “But you’re very detail-oriented. I like that in a woman.”

            “Lex Luthor, you have the soul of a romantic. What I want to know is, how did you cheat him out of it?”

            Lex laughed out loud as they pulled into the long driveway. Damian stirred in the back seat. “Are we home?” he asked sleepily.

            “Yes, we are, sweetie,” Lucy told him. “You can take your bath, and in the morning you can tell your sisters about how much fun you had, okay?”

            “Okay, Mom…”


End file.
